


The collections 2018

by Khalehla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Family?, German National Team, International Break, Light Angst, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Russia World Cup 2018, Transfer news, accidental insta-stories, something like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: A random collection of mini-fics, outtakes, back stories and other reposts from Tumblr in 2018. Pairings (if any) and ratings will vary.1. Meyretzka2. Götzeus3. implied Hömmels4. Steno5. Steno





	1. The one that gets left behind (Meyretzka)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news breaks. So does Max's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For: [FootballerInDreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FootballerInDreams/pseuds/FootballerInDreams)
> 
> [a Tumblr re-post]

 

> _"We’re very pleased Leon Goretzka, a Germany international with great potential, has decided in favour of FC Bayern despite big-name international competitors. This way Leon Goretzka remains in the Bundesliga"_ - [Karl-Heinz Rummenigge](https://fcbayern.com/en/news/2018/01/press-release-fcb-sign-leon-goretzka)

“You don’t even look happy.”

Leon opens his mouth to protest that he  _is_ , but Max cuts him off.

“Yeah don’t give me that; I can tell.” Max scrubs his hands over his face. “But I hope you’ll end up being happy. They’re a good club; you’re guaranteed trophies, at least.”

The worst thing about it all is that Max doesn’t even sound bitter, just warily accepting. Despite how the situation looked, Leon hadn’t had any regrets with the transfer; he knew it was good for his career and he’d be getting opportunities that he would likely not get at Schalke. That doesn’t stop his stomach dropping a bit at the defeated tone in Max’s voice, how abandoned he knows Max feels. Leon can hear everything that Max isn’t saying.

Because Leon knows Max too; Leon knows Max will never voice out his disappointment, because Max had a long and painful history of those he loved leaving him in the end, and Max had perfected the art of being supportive even when his own heart was breaking from having to say goodbye so many times.

“Babe, come on, I’m not going far,” Leon says, laying a hand tentatively on Max’s shoulder.

Max barks a laugh. “Well at least there’s that,” he agrees with a twist of his lips. “If you were gonna leave us for an FCB club, might as well be the one in Germany.”

“Max…”

Max abruptly steps away, and Leon lets his hand drop uselessly to his side.

“I gotta go.”

As Leon watches Max walk to his car without turning back, Leon feels the first tinge of regret over his decision, and he’s suddenly afraid that it won’t be his last.


	2. Family (Götzeus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Mario's Insta-story](https://78.media.tumblr.com/41986448caceeb6a3771ca0492dd95fb/tumblr_inline_p4nf7rd98c1tma3p1_540.png)

André’s laughing so hard now that there are actual tears running down his face. At first, Mario was just “mildly amused”, but it’s been five whole minutes and Mario just wants André to stop laughing long enough to figure out what the hell’s so funny.

“Schü!” Mario nudges at his friend who’s now curled up in a fetal position on the floor. “Can you stop that?”

“I’m ta-trying!” André gasps. It’s another minute or so before he finally stops laughing and rolls onto his back. “I hate you so much.”

Mario blinks. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

“I hate you. So much,” André repeats seriously. “Do you have any idea how long it took to get everyone to stop teasing me about being a professional third-leg? Now I have  _this_  to get teased about.”

“What  _are_  you talking about?” Mario asks, confused.

André gives him a look that’s clearly meant to say “I can’t believe you’re this dense because no-one is this oblivious but since it’s  _you_ , Imma gonna have to spell it out in baby language.” Mario does not like this look.

“Götze, did you or did you not practically tell the world that I am yours and Marco’s love child?”

What the hell?. “No.”

André somehow manages to glare at him with venom despite still lying on the ground. “Yes.”

“I did  _not_ ,” Mario insists.

“Yes. You. Did,” André insists right back, finally sitting up with a frustrated huff. “That little Insta-story of yours? The 11+10=21? You do know how that’s gonna look to everyone, right?”

Mario is genuinely confused and his facial expression must say so because André huffs some more.

“You know what? Never mind,” André says, throwing his hands in the air. “You had no idea what you did with the shirt-waving thing either.”

Before Mario even has time to link Brazil with his most recent Insta-story, Marco walks up to them.

“Hey guys,” Marco says, bumping his shoulder against Mario’s and making Mario grin with just how good it felt to have Marco near him all the time again.

That warm fuzzy finally dies a sudden death though, when André says, “Hey Daddy.”

Mario stares at their friend. Marco’s jaw falls open. “What did you call me?” Marco practically screeches.

André tips his head to the side. “Oh. Do you prefer ‘Papa’, then? ‘Coz I pictured Mario to be ‘Papa’ more than you, but I guess it works either way.”

Mario makes a gurgling sound at the back of his throat. “Schü. What. The. Fuck?!”

André rolls his eyes. “Eleven,” he says, pointing at Marco. 

“Plus ten.” Points at Mario.

“Equals twenty-one.” Points at himself. “Daddy plus Papa equals baby-me.” André folds his arms across his chest, looking like a spoilt child. “Do you get it now?”

Mario’s eyes go wide as it finally sinks in. He makes another gurgling noise.

“What are you guys going on about?” Marco asks, eyes still wide and filled with dread.

“Don’t check your Instagram,” André warns him. “Not until you come up with a response to all the “why didn’t you invite me to your wedding?” jokes everyone’s gonna be throwing at you.”

Marco turns to Mario, face pale, but Mario can only shrug. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Marco blinks at him for a few seconds, then sighs, shoulders  dropping.

Mario is two seconds away from tears when Marco hugs him. “I’m sorry,” Mario mumbles again.

“Hey don’t be sorry; I know you didn’t do that on purpose. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

Mario sinks into him, because Marco always made everything better.

“Can I get ice-cream?” André interrupts loudly from where he’s still sitting on the floor. “You owe me so bad.”

Mario kicks him.

“Hey! That’s child abuse!” André complains loudly.

Mario kicks him again.

“I’m calling social services!”

André finally quietens down when it’s  _Marco_  who kicks him this time and says sternly “Don’t talk to your Papa like that.”


	3. Status quo (implied Hömmels)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sami and Mats discuss the inevitable changing of the guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand it's another angsty one...

Mats doesn't know how long he and Sami have been sitting together in silence, watching their teammates great each other and catch up and do all the usual things that they do on the first night of international break. It's not that he doesn't want to be a part of the revelry, but this time 'round there's a feeling of sadness and nostalgia that he can't seem to shake, so he sits quietly towards the back of the room and just watches. Sami must feel the same because the midfielder gives Mats an almost sympathetic smile, then takes the seat next to him.

"I'm almost getting used to this," Sami says softly after a while (minutes? seconds? hours? who knows). "I don't know if I like it."

"Used to what?"

"This new status quo." Sami sweeps his hand in the general direction of where their younger teammates are huddling together and there is already some animated discussions and pointing going on. "All these youngsters. New blood is great - God knows the team needs it for variety - but I've gotten used to it being _us_ , ya know?"

Mats can't help but roll his eyes heavenward in ironic understanding. "They're all so young," Mats replies in agreement. He pauses, then amends, "Or have we just been in this so long that anyone new is "young" to us?"

"Probably the second one," Sami laughs. "Although it's a bit weird having Sandro in the team again; I mean geez, who'd have thought we'd play with him again after so long?"

"I know," Mats nods.

They sit together in silence for a few more minutes, when Sami speaks again. "I wish Bene was here."

Mats swallows at the mention of the other centreback now playing in Turin with Sami. It takes him a few extra seconds to be able to say with any type of nonchalance. "And Manu. You're right; I'm used to it being us, too."

Sami side-eyes him, but Mats doesn't fall for the temptation of saying more, so Sami just adds, "He misses you, too, you know."

Mats has to swallow again. "Sami, don't," he warns gently. It was still hard on Mats, knowing his... his _friend's_ injury woes this season meant that Benedikt hadn't been called to the national team in so many months, and Benedikt now in another country certainly didn't help. Mats thought he'd done a great job of hiding his sadness every time the team for international break got released and not seeing the one name he always sought out first. In the beginning it'd been difficult; always turning around without thinking, meaning to ask Benedikt something or look to see where he was sitting for lunch or share a fond eye-roll over their teammate's antics, only to remember a few seconds later that Benedikt wasn't there. Thomas had helped, and so had their other friends, distracting him with jokes and dinner and the other usual things, and although it was more a dull ache now, it still hurt. He wasn't ready yet to talk about it, even to someone like Sami.

But Sami just frowns at him. "I know he's been texting you and you've talked since his transfer, Mats, why are you acting like you'll permanently never see each other again?"

Mats swallows again. "It's not that. I't's just been busy, ya know? Especially now with the baby."

He'd been given the choice, as a new father, to skip this break, but Mats couldn't do it. He knew this would be his last world cup, and he was going to damn sure do everything he could to be in the team; even if it is hard being away from his baby and wife so soon after his son's birth.

Sami doesn't look convinced, but let's it slide and bumps their shoulders together. "Congratulations, again. I'm so happy for you and Cathy."

"Thanks," Mats smiles, bumping their shoulders again. "I don't think I've slept since he was born, but it's so worth it."

They go back to watching the rest of the team until the team managers gather them all together and then they all get sent to their rooms. As they file out of the elevators and go their separate ways, Sami squeezes his shoulder gently, and says softly "There's still months, Mats. Don't lose hope," before heading to his room.

Mats squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, then turns in the opposite direction, his hand already unlocking his phone. He's just pushing the door shut behind him when his call finally connects. "Ciao, Bene," he says softly, a smile tugging at this lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Sandro Wagner was part of the 2009 U21 team with Hummels, Boateng, Khedira, Neuer and Höwedes, who won the tournament. He hadn't been called to the senior team until June 2017.
> 
> A side note, the way things are going at the moment, if you're here for the shipping, the chances of Hömmels, Ju&Jo, Südy and Götzeus happening are very slim. Steno might still happen, if Löw decides to go with Leno instead of Trapp, but if not, it's Trappler instead. Gomez isn't a guarantee yet, and because of the severity of his injury, there's a small chance Neuer isn't fit enough for Russia (although the medical team worked miracles in Brazil, with Manu included, so I am staying positive).


	4. Gentle truths (Steno)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernd just doesn't have _time_ to be injured!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this lovely gifset](http://flavenne.com/post/172775667408/bernd-leno-crying-after-the-match-rblb04-942018) from the talented **Flavenne**

It’s only when the door to his apartment shuts quietly behind him and he’s gingerly thrown himself on his couch that Bernd lets out the frustration and anger with a gritted shout. He’s got a cushion pressed to his face so he doesn’t have to worry about neighbours, but if he wasn’t so anxious about his knee already, he’d probably have tried to kick the coffee table. Instead, he pushes the cushion even harder into his face and yells louder and longer and it’s a good minute before he feels some of the tension in his body is finally being let out. With the pain managed by some good drugs and the anger drained from the shouting, all that’s left is misery and disbelief.

Bernd slumps back into his coach and stares at nothing in his still dark apartment. Of all the rotten luck getting injured now, when he least could afford it; not when they were tying down their spot for champions league play next season and they had the Pokal semi against Bayern in a bit over a week. Even with a swift recovery, their team doctor had admitted that Bernd might not be able to play on the weekend. God- _dammit_. Why now? Why now?! He didn’t have time to be injured, for fuck’s sake, not when the team was  _this_  close to finally fixing their awful last season and equally rough start to this one.

He’s thinking about maybe punching the cushions, when he hears a slight sound from his kitchen and a familiar voice say, “You want some tea for your throat or do you think you want to yell some more?”

Bernd honest to God squeaks and jumps high enough off the couch that he twinges his knee; he curses loudly, both from pain and from surprise.

“Jesus  _fuck_ , ter Stegen, what the the fuck are you doing lurking in the dark like that!?” Bernd demands, glaring at the outline of Marc-André against the blinking light of the microwave clock.

Rather than react to Bernd’s aggressive tone like he normally would, Marc just casually strolls around and into the living room to take a seat next to him. “What did the medics say?” he asks just as casually.

Bernd glares some more, because he’s still not completely over Marc scaring the daylights out of him like that, and also because he’s still in a bad mood.

But Marc seems to be infused with some sort of supernatural patience for once, and calmly watches him as he sips from the mug (probably containing tea) that he’d brought with him.

In the end, Bernd backs down first, because he’s just too tired to maintain the anger. “Strain,” he say shortly.

Marc nods, puts his mug down on the coffee table, then tugs at Bernd’s arm. At first he has no idea what Marc is doing, but Marc just keeps tugging at him until Bernd’s somehow lying with his head in Marc’s lap, both feet propped up on the arm rests, Marc’s fingers carding through his hair. He’s grateful now for the dark that means that Marc can’t see his expression, because he’s got his eyes squeezed shut against the tears forming, shaking lightly from so much emotion, suddenly overwhelmed with Marc’s gentleness.

He’s also grateful that despite - or maybe because of - everything they’ve been through, Marc still knows him much too well and gives him the precious minutes of silence to get himself together.

“How are you, really?” Marc asks after Bernd’s wiped at this eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“It’s nothing; it’s not that bad” Bernd replies, voice scratchy.

Marc pinches him lightly on his side. “You were  _crying_ ,” he points out, “so stop minimising the pain.”

Bernd swallows. “Why are you here?” he asks, deflecting.

Marc sighs, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “Surprise two rest days; I wanted to visit for a bit.”

The fact that Marc’s  _here_  instead of in Mönchengladbach with his parents is all Bernd needs to know about  _who_  Marc wanted to visit; he can feel the tears forming again.

“I have a check-up tomorrow.”

“I know,” is the calm response.

“I have to leave straight after lunch.”

“That’s fine.”

A pause, then Bernd asks, “What time is your flight back?”

“5; but I can leave when you have to.”

There’s another few minutes of silence. “I hate this,” Bernd admits, barriers down.  “I fucking hate this.”

A hand caresses his cheek, and Bernd closes his eyes again when Marc bends over to brush his lips against Bernd’s forehead; he never knew what to do with a gentle Marc.

“You’ll be fine,” Marc says softly but firmly. “It’s only a strain and you’ll bounce back stronger; you always do.”

It’s almost crazy, but when it’s Marc who’s saying it, Bernd finds himself actually believing. He can feel the last of his tension seeping out of his bones. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I know.”


	5. Uncharitable thoughts (Steno)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We fight, because this is what we do."
> 
> [or: Germany's goalkeeper "luxury problem"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess, I like them like this...

 

 

 

> _The coaches have spoken to Marc – he’s had a very, very good season, but Manu is a complete goalkeeper in every aspect – he’s not been named best in the world several times for nothing. It’s not an easy situation for Marc, but when you’ve got a goalkeeper who’s so unbelievably gut, you want to keep the door open for him as long as possible_. - [Thomas Schneider](https://www.dfb.de/en/news/detail/schneider-manu-made-some-very-good-saves-187599/?no_cache=1&cHash=8c58fa655151ccf0ded788561255d838)
> 
>   _We told Marc that we wouldn't have any concerns to enter the tournament with him as No. 1._ -[ Andreas Köpke](https://twitter.com/mbfussball_en/status/1001419499558621185)
> 
> _We chatted about his season at Barcelona and the Champions League exit to Roma. I told him he played a great season... He has matured terrifically. He had a tough start to his Germany career, but he has mastered that very well_ \- [Jogi Löw](https://twitter.com/dw_sports/status/1002500120527736832)

The sun is nothing but a dark orange tinge against the velvet blue sky, so calming and beautiful in its clarity; Marc-André, high up on a hill and looking down onto the plains, the resort and the practice pitch below him, doesn't notice any of it though. He'd headed up here as soon as he had a chance to slip away from his teammates, hoping to nurse his resentment and disappointment in peace before having to be an adult again, wanting to let himself just _feel_ , even if they are uncharitable thoughts. He has to remind himself that it's perfectly okay for him to feel like this, so long as he doesn't wallow in the self-pity.

But it's unfair. He'd done everything to prove that he's a ready and available suitable first choice goal keeper for Germany, having played one of the best seasons of his career; there's nothing else he _could_ have done so he knows it's not just his ego talking when Marc thinks he deserves it. He does; but no. No. Because he could have played the season of his _life_ and be crowned the best goalkeeper in any club across the continent, but he would still only be second choice when it came to the national team. Marc's honest enough with himself to admit that it sucks and he hates it but he has no choice but to accept it; this was his reality so long as one Manuel Neuer was still playing. And the thing that made it all the worse? He was still second choice to a Manuel Neuer that was only 80% fit - Manuel didn't even have to be at his complete best to still be considered the best.

Marc tips his head up to the uncaring sky and closes his eyes, letting the bitter feelings wash over him, hoping that by letting them free he'll get over the negative feelings faster. Not that he has a choice; he knows for a fact that to stay on the team - because he has to remind himself that whether he's number 1 or not, he's still going to Russia, and that type of certainty is something half of his teammates didn't have - he can't let personal disappointment affect his teamwork and play. It's not fair, but dammit, he's gonna get over this, and _soon_ , even if he has to spend all his free time alone like this.

Or, nearly alone.

There's a soft rustle of leaves and an even softer tread of shoes and Marc doesn't even have to open his eyes to know who his new companion is. They'd always been like this, so drawn to each other that they would inevitably end up in the same space no matter how hard they tried to avoid each other. Now though, two tournaments gone in the same number of years, Marc has learnt not just to appreciate, but to even welcome Bernd's presence. Even if he'd never tell the other keeper that. He can almost feel the exasperation coming off Bernd when the other keeper realises that Marc is there, and it makes the corners of his mouth tug up in amusement.

"You would think," Bernd huffs, "that a place this big would have more than a handful of walking trails."

Marc chuckles, finally cracking open his eyelids and side-eyeing Bernd. "Are you following me?"

Bernd gives him a withering look before turning to look down into the valley below. "Nice view from up here." 

Marc hums, finally paying attention enough to actually appreciate his surroundings. They spend a few peaceful minutes just standing there, when Bernd finally breaks the silence.

"Who was it this time?"

The question could mean just about anything, but Marc knows exactly what Bernd's asking, and he's annoyed; mostly from the earlier irritation coming back up, but also because it's so irritating just how endearing it is that they get each other so well. Ugh, when did they become so _compatible?_

"Does it matter? It's all the same, in the end."

"Andy, then." 

Well, there's really no point denying it since it's pretty easy to co-relate Andy asking him to stay back after training today and Marc being in a shitty mood. "They keep saying the same thing, as though it will make things any better." There's traces of bitterness in his voice that he can't hide. "As though it makes it easier to know else to _do._ "

There's a pause, then Bernd says softly but firmly, "We fight, because this is what we do."

Marc looks at Bernd in surprise, but his counterpart doesn't even turn to him.

" _You_ fight to take the starting spot off Manu, and I fight." Bernd stops then, lips twisting into a bitter smile. "I fight for a chance to just _belong_."

In truth, it's not what Marc is expecting Bernd to say, but in a moment of clarity and uncharitable thoughts, he realises that Bernd is completely right. Despite having slightly different reasons, both Marc and Bernd are secretly wishing for the same thing: a guarantee of standing that can only be granted if their teammate is not fit enough to come to Russia. It makes them... too competitive? Yes. Mean-spirited? Probably. But also honest. If there was something that couldn't be denied, it was that both he and his Leverkusen counterpart were not shy to be brutally honest - especially when it came to something like their position in the national team.

There are so many ways Marc could respond to this, and in the past, he would have gone for the mocking and snide remarks, taking the chance his closest rival had given to him to highlight that, as it was in their youth, Marc would always come before Bernd, no matter how hard Bernd tries to tip the scales in his favour. But Marc has, over the past couple of years at least, found that needling Bernd isn't as satisfying as it used to be, and if he were being honest, it normally left him feeling empty and disappointed in himself. It's not really that much of a surprise anymore that he opts instead to say "You deserve to be here, too," and meaning every word of it.

Bernd, to his credit (and isn't it amazing how far they've both come?), just scoffs and says, "You're biased."

"No, just realistic. I've told you this before, but why would they keep calling you if they didn't think you earned a spot here?"

"Because they didn't know if Manu would be fit enough."

"They could have chosen someone else; Sven, or Loris, or even Ralf. But they chose you knowing you'd go if Manu didn't; why would they do that if you didn't deserve it?"

A pause, then Bernd says softly, "You're the only one who 100% deserves to go; the rest of us all have reasons not to."

Marc wonders how much it hurt Bernd to admit that, and not for the first time, Marc feels a sense of protectiveness over the man who still is his closest rival, but is now so much more. He slowly, tentatively reaches out his hand, and when only Bernd side-eyes him, Marc hooks their pinkies together. "If I had a choice, I'd still want you to come." 

Marc can see the blush tinging Bernd's cheeks even in the low light of the early evening, and he counts it as a win. "We just gotta keep fighting, right? Coz that's what we do."

Bernd gives him an inscrutable look, although he doesn't pull away. They'll know soon enough if all the fighting was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a reflective piece, because I don't pretend to know what goes through the players' heads in times like this.
> 
> However, as a fan, I totally understand why the coaches are making the decisions that they do, because quite frankly, when fit, Manu has no equal. But at the same time, I really feel for Marc. As a commentator once said "what _else_ does ter Stegen have to do to be number 1 in Germany?". This is the price you pay, I guess, for being a goalkeeper in a nation renowned for producing world-class goal keepers.

**Author's Note:**

> \--  
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I write **fiction** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.


End file.
